


Comes A Scotsman

by oooknuk



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Light BDSM, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 15:53:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11405655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oooknuk/pseuds/oooknuk
Summary: For Layna's Oral gratification challenge, a bunch of slashwriters who really should have known better, got together and wrote some silly shit.Methos is an inventive...storytellerWith Diana Williams, LittleAlex, Em, Layna, esjay with suggestions by Citosa





	1. Chapter 1

"Okay, twenty bucks."

"Oh come on, Joe, I don't even get out of bed for twenty. Fifty."

Joe choked. "Fifty? Are you out of your mind?"

Methos shrugged. "I don't care. If you don't want to see it ...."

"Thirty."

"And free beer for a week."

"Aw, man, that'd send me broke. Call it forty."

"Fifty, and he's on his way over. Take it or leave it."

"Okay, fifty. Bastard," he added, muttering. "But no touching. You or him."

"Of course not, Joe." Methos contrived to look innocent and abused. "Now play along," he whispered. In a louder voice he added, just as MacLeod came up behind him, "I think that was during the three years I spent as Genghis Khan's sex slave."

Duncan leant his elbows on the bar and raised an eyebrow. "Genghis Khan?" 

Methos smiled back in a suitably enigmatic way.

Shaking his head, Duncan looked across the bar to Joe. "Same again, thanks." 

From the corner of his eye, Methos watched Joe pour the drink while he waited for Duncan to take the bait. It didn't take long. Duncan looked over his shoulder at Methos and shook his head again, compressing his mouth in that familiar 'what have you been telling him now?' expression, complete with those adorable crinkles around his eyes. Methos got a little warmer.

Joe set Duncan's drink down on the bar, looking significantly at Methos. That was no good - he'd be giving the game away in no time. Methos needed to get Duncan away from the bar. The simplest plans were usually the best. Methos picked up his own drink and slid from his bar stool, heading for the table in the far corner.

"You coming?" he called over his shoulder. _You will not snicker. You will not snicker. You will not snicker._ And he didn't. 

A grumbling assent came from behind him and by the time Methos had sprawled himself into the chair against the wall on the far side of the table, Duncan was easing into the other. 

"You really shouldn't tell him stories like that, Methos. What if he believed you?" The head-shaking again. If he wasn't careful, it'd fall off and wouldn't that be a sight to remember.... "It'd be your own fault if he put it in your chronicles."

Methos sprawled deeper and rested his drink on his stomach, smiling smugly across the table. "It's already there."

That got him. The scotch Duncan was in the process of drinking came exploding out his nose and all over the table top. While he was still spluttering, Methos caught Joe's eye. "Can we get a towel over here?"

Behind Duncan's back, Joe was doubled over in silent laughter. Methos glared at him and a bar towel came sailing over Duncan's head to land in the mess on the table. 

Methos wiped and Duncan recovered himself enough to rasp, "Genghis _Khan_? _You_ were Genghis Khan's _sex slave_?"

"Why not me?" Methos pouted. "I'll have you know there are many things at which _I_ am extremely talented." 

"No doubt," Duncan shot back rudely. 

Methos affected offended innocence. "Well, if you're not interested...."

"Oh, I'm interested." Definite interest on several levels in the velvety purr of Duncan's voice. 

Hook, meet fish. 

Methos' lips curled slightly in satisfaction. He resisted the urge to glance over and see if Joe had observed how quickly the Highlander had taken the bait.

"So, which of my prodigious talents are you interested in...exactly?"

There was a short, rather heated pause. Methos noted Duncan's slight flush and intent look with smug pleasure. _Sod the money, this is actually fun._ Duncan recovered well, however, and ignoring Methos' provocative statement, he leaned back in his chair, mirroring Methos' relaxed pose. 

"What was Genghis interested in?" 

"Temujin, you mean."

"Huh?"

"His name. Genghis Khan is a title. You didn't think his mother called him 'Genghy' for short, did you?"

Another disgusted snort. "Okay, so what was _Temujin_ interested in?" Duncan said irritably.

"My mouth," Methos answered serenely. "Among other things, of course." 

This time the shower of scotch was anticipated. Methos wiped the table again while Duncan recovered his composure, then looking straight into Duncan's widened eyes, Methos continued, his voice deliberately taking on a slightly husky quality. 

"For a man who had conquered a large part of the known world, he was quite a shy man, even vulnerable. Like most great warriors, deep down all he wanted was to be able to just let go and have someone else take over for a while. Of course, that wasn't possible; so he dealt with it by insisting on absolute control in sexual matters so he didn't lose face. "

"He needed to be top at all times, and he absolutely adored having me suck his cock. Preferably when he was standing up so he could watch me while I was at work. He said he liked the way my lips would swell slightly as he thrust into my mouth but I suspect what he actually liked was that I would make it last and last until his knees buckled." 

Methos grinned and licked his lips, watching Duncan's expression as his words hit home. "I suppose these days you'd describe him as repressed but really he had one of the most voracious sexual appetites I've ever come across. After battle he'd be insatiable. On the floor, over tables, against the tent walls.... I don't think I've been so well fucked for centuries." 

He took a swallow from his bottle of beer. Joe had said he couldn't touch himself - not that he couldn't move, after all. Under Duncan's intent, dark gaze, he stretched luxuriously, tilting his chair back against the wall and letting his thighs fall open. This gave his victim, as Methos well knew, an unimpeded view of a tight denim-clad crotch and a long, lean body. He knew he was desirable. Many had told him so, and he had no reason to doubt them. Duncan didn't disappoint him - as his eyes dropped automatically and then darted away.

Methos pretended to be lost in pleasant memories and resisted the temptation to cheer as Duncan shifted surreptitiously in his seat. 

"You enjoyed it?" The words were clipped and Duncan's voice grated slightly, something he covered by taking another gulp of his scotch. A warm tendril of arousal snaked down Methos' spine at the possessive edge in Duncan's voice. He suppressed a shiver and regarded the Highlander through his eyelashes. 

"Oh yes! God, Mac, he wasn't ugly, he treated me well and he was hung like a yak. What more could you want? On the whole it was one of the most pleasant periods of enslavement I've experienced and anyway...." He let his words trail off and a slow smile spread across his face, while one hand, as if of its own volition, stroked down the inside of his thigh. _1...2...3...4...._

"Adam!"

"What? Bloody Hell, Mac. No need to bellow - I'm not deaf."

"And anyway, WHAT?"

"Oh! Well, it's just that...." Methos dropped his voice and bit his lip, delighting in the way Duncan instinctively leaned closer. "He was very imaginative and, and...I liked that." Flushing slightly, he lifted his head and stared wide-eyed into Duncan's heated gaze. _Fuck, it's warm in here._

The few seconds silence seemed to stretch interminably, both his and Duncan's breathing preternaturally loud in his ears while the background noise of the bar seemed a long way away. 

Then, very quietly. "Liked what, Me-thos?" 

Duncan's voice had taken on the quality of crushed velvet. Methos ruthlessly ignored the sharp jolt that hearing his real name on the Highlander's lips always gave him and decided abruptly that there had been quite enough foreplay.

"Being tied up, Mac. Temujin had a thing for bondage."

He handed over the bar towel without comment as Duncan attempted to inhale alcohol for the third time that day.

"He was fascinated with the paleness of my skin - his people were so dark compared to me - and said he liked the contrast between it and the leather he used to bind me." 

Duncan's eyes darkened perceptibly at this and he shifted in his seat again. 

Methos kept his face impassive and waited for Duncan to take his cue. His Boy Scout didn't disappoint. "Tell me...."

"He loved it when I struggled." Methos sighed, a faraway look in his eyes. "I'd fight against the bonds, and he'd just stand over me with this ruthless smile...."

"What did he...?"

"Well, as I said, he was insatiable after battle. Three, four, five times, hardly a moment to get my breath in between, just absolutely hammering into me - but other times, he was more...subtle. He'd bind me to the bed with these wide leather straps, and leave me for a while to think about what he was going to do to me. 

He'd go off to plot strategies, oversee his troops - you know, conqueror type things. Sometimes he'd even meet with his lieutenants in the tent with me there, and I'd just be lying there on my back. Completely nude, of course. Exposed, open for everything he might want to do to me."

Yes, Duncan was squirming, mouth slightly open, breathing audibly. Very good.

"A strap around each wrist-"ƒ here Methos gestured, circling his left wrist with his right hand - "and on my ankles, and just here-" he stroked high up on his 

inner thigh - "to keep my legs apart. Absolutely and completely helpless, utterly exposed." He lowered his eyes and whispered, making Duncan lean further in to hear him. "He made me wear this...device, a gold plug, with an emerald the size of a quail's egg on the outside for decoration. So I'd always be...ready for him." 

Methos held his breath, fearing that this last revelation might go beyond the bounds of Duncan's credulity; to his secret delight, there was no sign of doubt on the Highlander's face. Instead, he had the look of one hypnotized.

"Gold," Duncan murmured. "That had to have been...."

"Heavy. And cold when it went in, too. I was very much aware of it all the while, stretching me open for him while I lay there, waiting...."

MacLeod shifted again. Methos didn't need to look at his crotch to know that Duncan's imagination wasn't the only thing intrigued by the mental picture of Methos spread open and filled like that. He took another sip of his drink and leaned his head back, not able to hide the little smirk on his face as his eyes met Joe's across the room. Not that Mac was paying any attention to his face. Methos could practically feel the Scot's eyes burning through the fabric of his jeans, laying bare his crotch. He spread his legs a little more, casually, as if he was stretching, and could have sworn he heard a faint whimper.

He managed to school his expression as he watched Duncan forcibly tear his eyes away from his crotch. "Waiting?" Duncan asked, picking up the thread of Methos' tale. His voice sounded rough, but that could have been because he had just drained the rest of his Scotch. Methos didn't think so.

"As I said, he liked my mouth best of all. He particularly liked it when I was completely helpless, unable to prevent him from doing what he wanted. Sometimes he'd toy with me, teasing my mouth with his fingers while he told me what he planned to do to me. Other times, he'd be too hot and impatient to wait, and he'd shove his cock in, so far in that I could hardly breathe, fucking me so hard that my lips would be bruised for days."

He could feel Duncan's eyes on his mouth, focused right on those lips. "But what he really enjoyed was a slow, leisurely fuck. He'd feed it to me slowly, sliding in just a little bit before pulling back out. Short, shallow thrusts to begin with, teasing me, making me work for every inch. And I would, too. The things I could do with my tongue...." He paused to moisten said tongue with another sip of his drink, and he could have sworn he heard another whimper. "Another thing he loved was that I could take all of him, and since he was so big, that was no mean feat. I could relax my throat and take him all the way down, and then...well, you've heard about the humming trick, haven't you, Mac? I didn't just _hum_. I'd make my entire mouth _vibrate_ , pulsing around him from tip to root, while my tongue fluttered over that sweet spot just behind the head...."

Deliberately, he licked his lips and heard a sharp intake of breath from more than one person. He opened his eyes a fraction, and saw that Joe had come bearing beers for all three of them, but was now staring at Methos, his mouth hanging open.

Two for the price of one.

Methos resisted the urge to grin, and wondered if he could make Joe pay double if he got them both off.

He made a subtle gesture at Joe to sit down, not wanting to break the spell by actually inviting the man to join them, but it seemed the Watcher was no longer content to watch. He sat down even more awkwardly than normal, and although Methos avoided glancing at the region below Joe's ample stomach, he knew what he would see. _Well, well, well. Those straight boys can be turned, after all, praise the Lord._

"It wasn't always just him, of course," Methos added absently, and had to poke himself in the thigh to not laugh out loud at the way both of his listener's eyes boggled. "Sorry, did you say something, Joe?"

Joe wiped his face with his handkerchief. "No, not me, man. You were saying...?"

"I was something of a gift for his more favored supplicants. He was gracious like that. The fact that their sexual prowess was on display before someone who could use that information against them if he chose was just an afterthought, I'm sure."

"What...?" Duncan cleared his throat. "What did he do?"

"Him? Oh, nothing, he just watched. He'd invite them in and suggest they try to wear me out. Naturally, they never succeeded, but it was fun letting them try. Oh, I'm sorry, Joe. Mac, give him that towel, will you?" Poke, poke. "The only rule was not to damage me to the point where the Khan couldn't take his pleasure afterwards. Being Immortal, that gave them...a certain leeway, shall we say?"

He took another sip of his beer, and licked the bitter liquid from his lips. "My master sometimes had to suggest that just fucking me wasn't going to work. He'd encourage three or four of them to try and gain satisfaction from me at the same time."

"Four ...how...?" Duncan just stared at him. Methos stayed perfectly still, staring straight back until he'd worked out the logistics. 

"It was five if the one fucking me was getting it up the arse as well."

Duncan flushed bright red and Joe's mouth was hanging open again. Methos was tempted to reach over and push it closed. "If the mood was on him, sometimes, the Khan would tell them that they had to make me come without fucking me or touching my cock. Then he'd hint that I liked...pain, of a certain sort...and being bound...just so.... I must say, some of those Russians...." He let a dreamy quality enter his tone. "Being flogged with mink, being tickled with ermine tails...torture. Sheer torture." He sighed heavily. "Especially if they had my balls tied up. When they would stroke those with fur, I had to work hard not to disappoint my master. He liked to bet on my stamina."

"So-" Duncan cleared his throat and started again. "So how long...?"

Methos shrugged. "Depended on whether I'd already come once or not. If I was fresh, thirty minutes was average. Otherwise, I could go for hours. Top or bottom."

Joe blinked. "You could go at it for _hours_?"

"Easily. Temujin once bet a group of traders that I could fuck all of them without coming once myself. He was particularly pleased with me when I won that bet for him."

"How many...?" Duncan asked.

Methos nearly grinned at the realization that Duncan had been reduced to half-sentences. "Six."

Joe looked at him skeptically. "Right. You expect us to believe that you fucked six guys into the ground without coming once?" Methos just raised his eyebrows at Joe in reply and took another swallow of beer. "Mac, you buying this?"

Duncan was still flushed and there was a glassy look to his eyes. "He does this...thing...with his tongue."

Joe rolled his eyes. "It ain't his tongue we're talking about here, Mac - we already know how good he is with that mouth." Duncan gave Joe a surprised look and Joe said hastily, "Not like that, Mac! Jesus, get your mind out of the gutter."

"Don't want to," Duncan muttered, his eyes drifting back down Methos' body.

Methos couldn't help grinning at that. Duncan was caught and all he needed to do was reel him in. Joe was obviously going to be a harder sell.

He slid down further in his seat and, cocking his head sideways a little, arched an eyebrow at Joe. His gaze caressing, Methos picked up his bottle of beer again and licked a circle around the opening before closing his lips around it. Tipping the bottle up, he swallowed the next gulp of the beer, knowing how nicely the lines of his neck were stretching in the process. He lowered the bottle and slowly sucked the bottle tip further into his mouth, daring Joe to protest. When Joe didn't - couldn't - say anything and merely licked his lips, Methos knew he could focus back on Duncan again.

He placed the bottle back onto the table and looked back at Duncan, who was, as expected, staring with opened mouth. "Like _this_ thing I do with my tongue?" Methos said, smiling broadly. Inwardly, however, he snorted. So Duncan had noticed how he had been giving beer bottles pseudo-blowjobs just to attract the Scot's attention.

Duncan grabbed his own bottle and took a large gulp, for a moment looking like he would choke, but luckily didn't.

Picking at a loose thread of his sweater, Methos focused his gaze on some random point on the wall. "Temujin was so good that even I learned a few tricks under him."

"Like?" Duncan's voice was half breathless.

"I still remember that time when I was sitting on top of one of the men with my hands and arms bound behind my back, and another would be fucking me from behind. I'd be stretched so taut and full and Temujin would be fucking my mouth...." Oh, yes, Duncan looked like he was downright going to come any second now, and Joe wasn't that much better either. Jesus, this was so easy. "Gods, I can almost feel them in me right now, so hot and pulsing... Mmmm."

Duncan gave a strangled whimper. His golden skin had acquired a sheen to it that hadn't been there a few moments before and his pupils were so dilated, his eyes appeared almost completely black. Methos smiled and stretched languidly. 

He looked into Duncan's eyes, holding them as he went on, keeping his voice soft and deep, "God, I can still taste him...." He licked his lips. "The taste of that big, hard cock pushing over my tongue, into my throat so far all I could do was swallow it. Salty and musky and...delicious." The beer bottle again, as much a phallic substitute as he could make it. Besides, his own mouth was getting a little dry.

Another whimper, Joe this time. Methos grinned to himself, not dropping his hold on Duncan's gaze for a second. If Joseph got off on watching, let him watch this. 

He had his eye on the main prize.

Methos leant forward, resting his elbows on the table, totally unsurprised when Duncan mirrored him. They were inches away from each other now and Methos could smell the arousal shimmering off the Scot in waves. 

"I can smell how much you want me," Methos said.

Duncan blinked. "What...?" His voice was rough.

"He'd tell me that as I sucked him," Methos purred. "Tell me he could smell how much I needed him to fuck me, how every part of my body was his alone to do with what he would. That no one else could give me what he could." 

Duncan was breathing hard now. "Yes?"

"To make me come," Methos whispered. "No one else could make me come like he could - no one else was allowed without his permission. No matter how much I begged. 'Please, please,' I'd beg him," he said as he rubbed the cool beer bottle over his face and condensation ran in a little stream down his neck to his chest, "'please, let me come.'" He smoothed his hand over the path the fluid had taken, arching his throat and letting his head fall back a little so he could look at Duncan from under his lashes. "And then finally, when I thought I would die from wanting it, he would say the magic word and I would come like I'd never come before, come like I would never stop." 

"Magic word?" Duncan rasped, so close to him now that Methos could smell the faint ferny smell of his precum.

"Yes."

"Yes?"

Methos leaned in closer, almost but not quite close enough to kiss. Tilted his head as if for a kiss and said in a breathless whisper, "Yes." Duncan shuddered, and his eyes rolled back in his head as his body jerked. "Oh, yes." Perfect.

There was a soft, "Goddamn," from his left, but he didn't look at Joe, just wanting to drink in the beauty of Duncan's arousal, his perfect, shattering orgasm.

_Oh, yes, my pet,_ he thought with affection. _So sweet, and so easy._

He stood, stretched legs that were a little stiff, and eased jeans that were a little tight. He tossed the towel over Duncan's lap, where a slight stain was already visible. "You might need that, MacLeod." Then he bent over and whispered in his victim's ear, "Kilts hid so many...sins, didn't they?" Duncan stared at him with glazed eyes. Soon, Methos knew, Duncan would remember that he should be embarrassed, and Methos wanted to leave before that happened.

Joe was clutching at the table with rigid, white knuckled fingers. "I'll be by to collect later," Methos said to him, unable to keep a little sultry promise out of his voice. Joe nodded jerkily.

Methos grinned to himself as he sauntered out. What it was to be happy in one's work, he thought.


	2. Forgive me my trespassing

Joe looked at Mac who was dazedly staring after Methos' retreating back. He knew how the Highlander had to be feeling, except at least MacLeod had got off which was more than Joe had done. Now he was stuck with being horny and hard with the bar not due to close for another hour. 

Gradually the sounds of the customers claimed his attention, and Mac roused himself. "Shit," he said softly, clearly realising exactly how good Methos had got him and the state he had been left in. He glanced down at his towel-covered lap and blushed. "That little bastard." 

"Yeah. You better get home and clean up," Joe said with shockingly little sympathy for the Immortal's plight - the man had a long coat after all. 

"What the hell just ...? Joe, did you know about this?" 

Oops. "Me? Nah - just dropped over to see what was so fascinating," he lied. "Can I help it if you encourage him? You should know better by now." 

Mac looked at him with eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Sure, Joe." Another glance at his ... situation and a wince. "But you're right, I'd better leave before I make a bigger fool of myself." 

He stood and hastily wrapped his coat around. "Bastard," he muttered again, before stalking out in the same direction Methos had just taken. 

Joe wiped his face with his hand, then stood, trying to will his erection away and thinking that fifty bucks was cheap for that sort of entertainment. Thinking about it again, he grinned to himself, remembering the exact moment he knew Mac had come in his pants. "And I bet that, my friend, is something you ain't done in a looong time." 

It didn't solve his own problem, but he knew he'd asked for it, so he just got behind the bar and tried to concentrate on his job. It was hard, pun intended. The pictures Methos had woven, and the picture he made, just sitting there in those sex-changing-tight jeans, and those hands... that mouth. 

He shook his head and tried to remember what the customer in front of him had asked for, before giving up and asking the guy. Impatiently the order was repeated and Joe carried it out. 

At last, after far too long, Slim closed and locked the doors. "Boss, I need to be getting back early tonight. You mind?" 

Joe shook his head. "Nah, I got it. Say hello to Nancy and the kids for me." 

"Sure thing, Joe." Slim picked up his coat. " 'Night." 

At last, blessed privacy, and Joe could finally pay a call to ease a little tension of his own. 

He was the first to admit the men's room of his bar was not the most romantic location, even for a date with Rosie Palm, and staring at the graffiti above the urinal, dick in his hand, he felt a wave of self-pity for the pathetic nature of his non-existent love-life. Even the memory of Methos' little stage-show couldn't make it work now. 

Sighing, knowing the moment was gone, he start to tuck himself back into his pants, before nearly jumping clear through the wall as breath tickled his ear and a warm voice said close to him, "Giving up already, Joseph?" 

"Jesus, Methos!" He tried to turn, but found himself encircled in strong arms that wouldn't let him move without a struggle. "Let go, man, this ain't funny." 

"But, Joe, I've come to collect," Methos purred. Joe tried to finish zipping up but his wrist was trapped firmly. "You don't want to disappoint me, surely." 

"You cheated, the bet's off. I saw that thing you did with your thigh." 

Methos slid around him, keeping contact with his body. "So I did, " he said regretfully. "But we never agreed my forfeit, did we?" 

"Fifty bucks, like we said. You lost." 

Methos looked amused, his lips in a soft pout. "Well, if you'd prefer _money_...." 

Joe felt his mouth go dry. "What ... what are you offering instead?" 

"Well, let's see. Fifty bucks. That's a _lot_ of money. It'd have to be _good_ ," he said, drawing out the word, "to be worth that, wouldn't it?' 

"Yeah," Joe managed to say, and just managed not to squeak as Methos, now behind him again, rubbed his hand against his crotch. Joe's cock filled, eager for more of that wonderful pressure. 

"So, maybe I could do something and you could tell me if it was worth fifty bucks. If not, then, maybe I'll have to do something else. What do you think?" 

Think? He was supposed to _think_ with what the man was doing with his hand, and the way he was rubbing up behind him, and licking the back of his neck? "O ... okay." 

"There's a good little Watcher," Methos said with clear pride in his voice. "Turn around for me, Joe. Rest against the wall. Don't want you falling on me." 

"Wha ...?" he said even as he obeyed. Then stared in utter amazement as Methos sank to his knees in front of him and unzipped his fly back down. "Methos?" 

"Hush. I know what I'm doing." 

Joe's head banged against the tiles as wet warmth engulfed his cock. "Holy shit!" Methos was going down on him in the men's room! Then he couldn't think in coherent phrases at all as Methos took him down to the root, the tip of Joe's erection at the back of his throat. A heavenly suction .... "What....?" he yelped as Methos' hands gripped his waistband button, undid them swiftly and yanked his trousers down. "What the hell are you doing?" 

His cock was released with a slurping sound. "Just let me do this." Dark intelligent ... kind ... eyes stared up at him. Dazed, Joe nodded. "Good man." Methos kissed his cock and then hooked his fingers under the waistband of Joe's boxers. "I want these down." 

What could Joe do but let Methos slide the underwear down his legs? He knew his harness was visible now. Should he care? _I'm getting head in a bathroom, stop looking a gift horse in the goddamn mouth, Dawson._ Then he yelped as Methos enclosed his balls in a warm, gentle grasp, and groaned as once again, Methos took him into his mouth, fondling his balls as he sucked, his tongue curling over the crown of his penis. 

Now the images came back in full force. _Methos, spread, bound and helpless, his entrance plugged and stretched, ready to be used, his mouth open, begging to be taken, abused. Pale skin, glowing in the light of a brazier, bisected by leather, a gem winking as he shifted, adjusting the heavy gold plug imbedded inside him, straining against the bonds ...._

Joe couldn't help it. He started to fuck Methos' hot mouth, but instead of pushing him away, Methos just let him, taking him deeper and deeper, his throat spasming around Joe's cock, sucking, tugging at his ... heart.... _Oh Methos...._ "Methos, Methos," he moaned, his hips jerking, using Methos like a mindless vessel but being received hungrily, greedily. 

With a last convulsion he came deep, hot and long into that velvety hole. "Christ, oh Christ, Methos," he almost sobbed, only keeping upright because Methos was holding him firmly against the wall. He had his eyes shut tight, not wanting to look down and see the disgust in Methos' eyes. 

"Look at me, Joe," Methos said softly, his voice coming from a lot closer than his waist. Joe obeyed and found the man a mere inch from his own face. They stared at each other, Joe utterly fascinated by the curl of Methos' little pink tongue tip licking the corner of his mouth. Mesmerised, he couldn't move as Methos drew even closer, and then touch his lips with that soft mouth of his. A kiss? He was kissing Methos? 

"No...," he mumbled as Methos tried to deepen the caress. 

Methos pulled back, puzzlement clear in his expression. "You don't like?" 

"Jesus, I'm sorry, Methos, I lost it there. I'm sorry...." He stopped babbling as Methos grinned at him. "Huh?" 

"You're sorry? You're an idiot. I _wanted_ that. I _loved_ it. I _told_ you that before, in the bar." 

"But ... you made all that up. You were never Genghis Khan's sex slave." 

The grin widened. "Not Genghis Khan's, no." 

Joe felt his own eyes widen as he realised what Methos was saying. "So ... the ... and the ... you liked .... Jesus! Methos!" 

"You have a problem with my former profession, Joe? I figured you for a more broad-minded person." 

"But ... being tied up ... and ... six guys?" 

"It was more actually, but I didn't think you'd believe the truth." 

"Methos...." 

"Joe," Methos said reprovingly before kissing him again. Joe let him this time. "I liked it. I like you. I like making you happy. And I figure that was worth fifty bucks?" 

Joe stared at him, trying to remember how money came into the conversation. "Uh, I think I owe you change." 

Methos smiled, and tugged him closer, his busy hands already massaging and rubbing Joe's butt and running up under his shirt. "Well, then. We'd better do something about that. But I warn you, I shall expect the exchange to be exact. If we get it wrong, I might have to refund you." 

Joe nodded solemnly, but his face was hurting from his smile. "That might take a while, you think you're up to it?" 

Methos traced a finger down Joe's cheek, before pushing gently at Joe's lips. Joe took the hint and began to suck on it. "Oh, I'll force myself to endure it. It'll be sheer hell, but I'll soldier on. You?" 

"Bring it on, dick boy," Joe said with bravado, "you ain't the only one who never got wore out that easy." 

"I knew there was a reason I liked you, Joe. " 

"Methos?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Really fur torture?" he asked, but then he had to shut up again. Methos had better uses for his mouth. 

So did he, now he came to think about. Most definitely. 


	3. Onan The Barbarian

Duncan sighed and rolled over. _This is getting bloody ridiculous._ He swung his legs out of the bed, grabbed his bathrobe and pulled it on irritably. He was going to murder Methos ... no, Joe. Joe was the one who'd put the old bugger up to it, he was now sure. They just had to pull that stunt during one of the increasingly frequent droughts in his love life.

He poured himself a Scotch, stared at the glass, then poured the drink back in the bottle. He'd already tried this. Television. 'A Brief History of time'. BBC World Service. Nothing worked. This was the third night in a row when sleep had been as hard to find as an honest whore.

He looked through a porthole. Out there were people in love. Having a good time. Having _sex_. So why was Duncan MacLeod not out with them, ploughing a furrow through the eager young women with whom he had always been able to take his pleasure at will?

_Because a_ woman _isn't what you want._ He didn't want to woo, he didn't want romance. He wanted a good hard fuck, any way he could get it, but he wasn't about to go trawling for it. What was pleasant and easy with the ladies got old and sordid fast with guys, and he was sick of old and sordid.

Speaking of which.... He got a ten second warning before the door clicked. "What do you want, Methos?"

He didn't bother turning around. He didn't think he could cope with the knowing smirk.

"Saw your light on, I thought I'd pop in." His abandoned glass was taken from his hand, and then he heard the silvery tinkle as scotch was poured out.

"Have a drink, why don't you?" Duncan said with heavy sarcasm.

A chuckle came from behind him. Reluctantly, he turned to find his filled glass being held out to him, and Methos holding a drink of his own. Yes, the smirk was in place. "Someone's in a mood."

"And whose fault is that?" he snapped.

Methos held out his arms in a generous gesture. "That's why I'm here, MacLeod. I've come to help you with your little difficulty."

"And what are you, the masturbation fairy?"

"Wow, you've really been chewing on the straps, haven't you?" Methos plopped onto the sofa and swung one long leg over the end of it. "No one ever died of sexual frustration, you know. Except maybe that one guy I kne...."

"Oh fuck off, Methos. I've had enough of the tall tales. Why don't you tell me something true for a change."

Methos suddenly swung his leg to the ground and sat up, looking at Duncan intently. "Why don't you, Mac?"

There was that damn voice again. Low and husky, like it was soaked in whiskey, and with a line direct to Duncan's libido. "What?"

"Tell me something...true. Something... real. Make me...feel it."

_Oh Sweet Sobbing Jesus._ "You want...?"

"I want. I really, really want," Methos said, sprawling back on the sofa, managing to look like the main dish at a banquet. "Give it to me, Duncan...."

Duncan shoved Methos' legs off the sofa and plopped down beside him. "Idiot," he said, not without a degree of fondness. "Next time you want to seduce me, try doing it without using Spice Girl lyrics."

"I don't think it was Spice Girls, Mac," Methos answered with an earnest expression that only proved to Duncan that he was taking the piss. 

And that he hadn't denied he was trying to seduce him. How very interesting.... Duncan's cock twitched in his boxers.

He swivelled a little in his seat, tucking one knee up so he was facing his unexpected visitor. "Methos," he said, keeping his voice to that low tone that had always worked so well on lovers before. "Why are you here?" 

"I told you already, I saw your light on...."

Duncan whacked him with a throw pillow.

Methos snatched the pillow away and tucked it under his own head, the movement accidentally causing a sinuous ripple down the length of his body. Accidentally...yeah, right. 

"And thought I'd pop in and let you return the favour."

"Return what favour?" Duncan demanded, reminded all over again by the heat crawling all over his body in sticky little fingers. "Public humiliation? Let me get my coat."

Methos chuckled quietly. "Idiot." A long-fingered hand settled on Duncan's knee. "Here's a hint: we're gonna need fewer clothes, not more."

"Fine." Duncan grinned, though he was fairly sure it was too wolfish not to give the game away. "Take yours off."

The surprise on Methos' face was almost worth the earlier humiliation.

Almost.

Methos reached for Duncan's bathrobe sash. Duncan batted his hand away.

"Not me. You." While Methos stared at him in apparently genuine shock, Duncan got up off the sofa and dragged a chair over, then settled himself comfortably opposite the other man. 

"I've had enough of being the entertainment. Now get undressed."

"Mac, what makes you think you can order me...."

"You're in my house, you'll do what I say."

"But it isn't even a house! It's a _boat_ ," Methos pointed out.

"Then even more so. I'm the captain, and my word is law. You're getting undressed." Duncan sat back. "Shoes first."

To Duncan's surprise, Methos tilted his head, appeared to think for a moment, then quietly and obediently untied and toed off his boots.

"Socks."

Methos bent over, removing first one grey woollen sock, then the other, exposing his long, well-shaped feet. _Why am I thinking about his feet? Never mind._ Methos stretched his long toes, all the while looking up at Duncan expectantly. 

"Sweater." _MY sweater,_ Duncan thought. _So that's where that one went._

Methos closed his eyes, then slowly pulled the loose, oatmeal-coloured cotton sweater off over his head, with perhaps more stretching than was necessary. Under the sweater was a loose, well-worn white t-shirt, with a grey-faded logo, something with an elephant; it looked as if it would be very soft. It was pulled up a bit above his jeans, showing a sliver of belly, a small neat navel. Methos' short hair was mussed. He gazed levelly at Duncan.

_He's actually doing it._ Somehow he'd expected more resistance, more argument – why had he never thought of just _telling him what to do_ before?

"The shirt...." Duncan swallowed; his mouth was dry, his drink forgotten.

Methos pulled the shirt off over his head -- again, with more stretching than seemed strictly necessary, but Duncan wasn't complaining -- exposing pale skin, no tan lines and small, deep-rose nipples. 

One of which was pierced through with a small silver ring. The sight of it -- and the knowledge that it was _recent_ , the man had had no such thing when they'd sparred last week -- made Duncan's own nipples tighten a bit in sympathy. 

Was that a barely-hidden smile on Methos' unreadable face?

Oh yes. It was. Duncan let his gaze travel slowly up from Methos' mouth to his eyes. He was onto the old bastard now.

"Trousers," Duncan ordered, not lowering his eyes.

There was that cynical eyebrow again, arching as Methos dared him to insist. Fine, if Methos wanted to play chicken, he'd come to the right man. Methos' hands had slid to the waistband of his jeans, pale fingers spread against the dark fabric. Still daring him. 

Duncan smiled. "Surely a man who can talk about group sex with Genghis Khan isn't shy about showing a little skin..."

Methos' hands moved to his jeans' buttons, neatly popping one after another. Crisp dark hair appeared and a hint of rosy cock. 

Commando.

The entire Sahara had taken up residence in Duncan's mouth and he drained the rest of his Scotch in a gulp. Completely unbuttoned, Methos settled his hands back at his waist. And waited.

"Off," Duncan growled.

"Having trouble getting your tongue around words of more than one syllable?"

There were several things he wanted to get his tongue around, but strangely, none of them were words. His heart was beating in his chest so hard he was sure Methos could hear it. 

Methos was watching him back, Duncan realized – watching him with an unexpected intensity. One of those odd silences came and went with much given away in a short time.

"You sure you wouldn't rather just call it a draw and go fuck like bunnies?" Methos' hand strayed into the open fly of his jeans, just for a moment.

A draw? "Not a chance," Duncan answered quietly. "Come on, Methos.... Enough procrastinating, get 'em off."

A subtle narrowing of Methos' eyes was all the response Duncan got until he slipped his hands into the top of his jeans and shimmied them down. 

Fuck. He really was extraordinary.

The fucking like bunnies idea was sounding better all the time. As Duncan watched, Methos' generous cock, lengthened and filled, lifting to point to the shallow indent of his navel. 

"Touch yourself for me," Duncan whispered.

Methos cupped a hand at his groin. "Tell me."

"What?" Duncan rasped.

"Tell me something real."

Duncan was never really sure where his next words came from, only that they flowed out without hesitation from some place he'd been keeping hidden for just this moment. "When I kiss you, it will be for a long time. Long and slow and deep until you melt all over me."

"I don't melt." Methos' voice was as rough as his own.

"You will."

Methos curled his fingers around his cock.

"I'll hold you close and you'll kiss me back. I'll taste beer and something that will always remind me of you."

A single stroke, base to tip. "Come and do it then."

"Not yet." Duncan shifted in his seat and his bathrobe opened. Beneath it, he was hard and aching. Now Methos knew that too. He waited. Another long, slow stroke of Methos' hand, wide, dark eyes fixed on Duncan's own. Need throbbed from the soles of Duncan's feet to the top of his head. He licked his lips. "I'll pull you close against me and hear those little noises you make."

"I don't..."

"You will."

"Come and make me." Serious challenge in the narrowed gold-green eyes.

Duncan tugged the sash of his robe open and shrugged it off his shoulders as he stood. Methos' mouth dropped open – in shock or wordless invitation, Duncan didn't know.

"I've changed my mind."

* * *

"I've changed my mind."

Methos narrowed his eyes at Duncan. _You Scottish wanker!_ "If you stop now, I'll take your bloody head."

"Oh, I'm not going to stop, but I don't want you to touch yourself. In fact, I want to make sure you _can't_ touch yourself." Duncan stepped closer and Methos' eyes automatically shifted lower, eyeing his prize. Just a little bit closer and he'd be able to reach out and touch it, taste it. "Give me your hands."

Methos jerked his eyes up from his contemplation of Duncan's...assets, his self-defence mechanisms automatically kicking in. "Why?" he asked suspiciously.

Duncan held up the sash from his robe. "I'm going to tie your hands out of the way."

Methos snorted. "I don't _think_ so."

Duncan raised an eyebrow. "I thought you liked being tied up. You made quite a big deal about it in your little story. Unless you were making up the whole thing...?"

Check. Methos scowled and lifted his hands. Duncan tied them together with the soft sash, then tugged Methos' arms above his head so he could secure them to the frame of the couch. "How am I supposed to put on a show for you if I can't touch myself?" he grumbled.

"The same way I did for you," Duncan said, straightening back up. Methos eyed the cock and balls just inches away from his face; if he arched up just a little bit...

"Uh-uh," Duncan said, stepping back with a grin on his face. "You're going to lie there and listen to me telling you _exactly_ what I'm going to do to you when I finally touch you. You're going to get so hard that you'll feel like you're going to explode, and you're going to make those little noises for me. If I like what I hear and see, _then_ I'll let you have this." He cupped his erection, lazily stroking it once, twice, before releasing it. He ran one finger across the tip, gathering the fluid, and then held his finger in front of Methos' face. "Have we got a deal?"

Methos eyed the finger hungrily. "Yes." He opened his mouth, eager for a taste, and watched in disbelief as Duncan pulled his hand away and sucked his own finger. "Mac!"

"You have to earn it first," Duncan reminded him, and then grinned. It was a wicked grin, one that promised retribution for all the teasing Methos had subjected to him over the years, and Methos' cock twitched with anticipation.

_This is going to be hell_ , he thought. He could hardly wait for Duncan to begin.

* * *

Duncan could hardly wait to begin.

He stood from where he had stooped to fasten the sash and looked down on Methos possessively. Methos' pale, lean body lay before him, waiting for him to start. God! Methos looked so _fuckable_ like that, stretched out, his back arched slightly from the position his arms took, his legs parted invitingly. He could imagine parting them further, roughly stabbing his cock into Methos' tight opening and then pounding into that silken heat, while that pale body writhed underneath him, pushing hard, keeping to his rhythm, until he was ready and Methos was begging for it and then reaching for Methos' erection and pulling them both over the edge as the pleasure exploded in them...

He made a hungry step towards the foot of the couch and the movement brought him back to himself. That wasn't the plan this time. He would keep that idea for another time.

He turned back to the head of the couch to where Methos was watching him with knowing, interested eyes and knelt down so that his face was inches away from his friend's. "Close your eyes," he said in a voice deepened and roughened by lust.

"What?" Methos frowned.

" Close. Your. Eyes," Duncan repeated.

Methos narrowed them instead. "What are you planning to do?"

"Methos, just shut them. I want you to be concentrating on what I'm saying, not distracted by _other_ things." Duncan glanced down at his own erection and then looked back into Methos' eyes, which obediently closed.

"Good boy." Duncan leaned closer so that his lips were next to Methos' ear. "If you're lying comfortably, then we'll begin...."

Methos squirmed a little but then calmed, his eyes still shut, Duncan noted approvingly. "I'm going to start by nibbling kisses just below your ear, just dry little pecks with maybe a hint of teeth behind them. I'm going to move up following your hairline. Just the same little kisses, all the way over, spending a little more time at the sensitive spots, like your temples, just so you know I'm there. And when I've got to the other side, I'm going to your jaw. And this time there'll be more than just a hint of teeth, I'm going to bite you, oh so gently. Lots of tiny little bites, the kind that set off little fires inside you.

"Then the next place is down this long neck of yours. Kisses I think, nibbles and soft wet kisses, in long, slow lines down, to the prize." Duncan shifted position so that he was bent over Methos' neck, with his lips just above the hollow in Methos' throat. "One of these days I'm going to pour honey in this hollow and see how long I can take to lick it all away. Does that sound like a plan?"

Methos didn't say anything, but Duncan could see his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.

"I'll take that as a 'Yes', then. Well, that's for another time. Today, I'm going to push my tongue into it and cover it with lovely wet licks. Then I'll blow on the moisture so you'll know where I've been. I could spend quite a while playing _that_ game. But I don't want to spend too long there, because your nipples are just too close to be ignored.

"Now, with nipples, you don't want to go in straight with the mouth. Oh, no. I'm going to rub them with my fingers first, two or three so that the whole area is covered. And I'm going to rub in circular movements, pressing in gently until they start to get hard. Once they're hard enough I'll take that nipple ring of yours between my finger and thumb and start to pull slightly. Those little tugs that seem to connect straight to your cock. You know what I mean?"

It seemed that Methos did know, because his head was back and he was breathing deeply through his nose.

Duncan smiled at the sight. "I'll keep that up until you're squirming. And then, and only then, will I think about using my mouth on you." He moved down until his mouth was over Methos' left nipple and breathed on it. The nipple ring rose invitingly in its dark pink mount. "And when I do, I'm going to just delicately bite it...."

Methos hissed as Duncan's teeth closed on his nipple, Duncan's tongue hooking into the nipple ring to tug on it a little, and Methos' cock jumped in obvious appreciation when the teasing became a serious bite. Duncan drew back and noted Methos' reaction to this stimulus.

"You weren't kidding about the pain thing, were you? How very interesting," Methos opened his eyes at Duncan's change of tone. Duncan moved closer to him and locked gazes. He spoke the next words softly and deliberately. "You know, if you were my slave I wouldn't share you with anyone."

Methos' eyes got slightly wider and Duncan suppressed a smile as he saw a light sheen of sweat break out all over Methos' body. He pinched the abused nipple hard, twisting the slender silver ring, and grinned fiercely at Methos' sharp intake of breath, noting with appreciation the sharp curve of his ribcage and the way his body arched seeking more contact.

"So sensitive, Methos. If you were _mine_ ," he said with delicate emphasis, 'I'd think I'd exploit that. Just to remind you who you belonged to". He twisted the other nipple sharply. "Nothing complicated, just simple cotton thread tied round each of these gorgeous little nubs to keep them nice and hard for me. They'd rub against your clothing and be a constant reminder. Remind you that you are _mine_." He deliberately gave the word the same emphasis.

Methos arched again, his mouth slightly open. Duncan gave the nipple another sharp twist and released it taking a step back so he could watch the way his finger marks flushed dark around Methos' aureoles before fading quickly. Duncan grasped his own cock and stroked it a few times to relieve his own tension.

"You mark so beautifully I can see why that held so much attraction for your masters. I would bind you with something finer, something like black ribbon." Duncan paused, watching as his words caused a rosy flush to spread across Methos' skin. 

"Perhaps silk ribbon, something that would slide across your skin softly, so all those fine hairs on the back of your neck stood up." Methos' eyes were open again but the slightly amused expression was now gone from them. Duncan moved round to Methos' side and trailed his fingers round Methos' bound wrists and then down his arm as he continued to whisper, his breath warm and damp against Methos' ear.

"First I'd cross your wrists and bind them at the small of your back, pulling the ribbon tight so it cut slightly into your skin. Then I'd carry on winding it half way up your arms just so I could admire the effect of your skin pinking round the edges of the ribbon as you wriggled to get free." Methos' breaths were coming in short pants now and his tongue darted out to moisten his lips. Duncan allowed one of his hands to wander down to the crease where Methos' thigh met his body. The skin was warm and slightly damp and he teased it gently, delighting at the way Methos jumped and cursed. 

"Do you beg as well as you wriggle, Methos?"

"Fuck you, Highlander! " The hissed response made Duncan chuckle. Methos' eyes were nearly black with arousal, but the challenge in them was obvious. Duncan leaned in very close to him, so close he could feel the heat and virtually taste the arousal the man's body was giving off. He licked a bead of sweat off Methos' upper lip.

"Such language, Methos! Do you want me to gag you? Did you know I've dreamed of doing that?"

At those words Methos went very, very still. Still chuckling, Duncan moved away and sat on the sofa opposite his bound companion. He spread his legs and did his own imitation of one of Methos' sprawls, while his hand worked his own impressive erection leisurely. He luxuriated in the sensations curling in his groin, noting how Methos' eyes hungrily followed his hand, hips twitching unconsciously in response. Duncan smiled sweetly at Methos and then closed his eyes the better to visualise his fantasy.

"I'd use one of those ring gags on you. Of course you'd beg me not to, but that would shut you up, while still allowing me to take full advantage of that talented mouth." Duncan thumbed the head of his penis.

"That's such a pretty picture Methos. You kneeling at my feet, mouth held open for me, hands tied, knees spread wide in submission, just waiting for me to use you." Duncan opened his eyes and allowed himself a soft moan of appreciation at the sight before. 

Methos' cock was now deep red and leaking fluid, while his hips pistoned helplessly in the air. His eyes were now squeezed tight shut and his head thrown back, a thread of blood on his chin evidence of how hard he was biting at his bottom lip. Duncan swallowed noisily and worked his cock harder. "I'd take your head in my hands and turn your face up to me. Then I'd slide my cock into your mouth, slowly so you didn't gag and I'd fuck your mouth hard, just the way you like it. You'd make little choked, wet sounds round the gag as I thrust and I'd watch and then...."

And then the phone rang.

The shrill noise jangled the senses of both immortals in a manner even more irritating then the signature of one of their own kind. Methos eyes snapped opened and he spat something incomprehensible in a language which seemed to consist mainly of diphthongs.

MacLeod's erection wilted like a lupin in the midday sun. He glared at the phone, willing it to stop ringing. The answer phone kicked in. "Duncan darling, pick up. I know you're there!" Amanda's polished tones reverberated through the barge. 

Duncan froze, his eyes darting towards Methos. He winced. Glacial didn't even begin to describe the current expression on the old man's face. He could almost see the penguins.

* * *

Methos sighed. A quick tug on the sash binding his wrists, untangled him from his consensual captivity. Duncan sympathised with the emotions fuelling the angry glare directed at him. While he didn't think you could _actually_ die from sexual frustration, much more of this and he wasn't going to be held responsible for his actions.

"Are you going to answer that, MacLeod?"

Duncan sighed and rubbed his temples he could feel the start of a headache to match the unfulfilled throb in his groin. "I don't really want to," he muttered, wondering briefly why a stark-bollock-naked and still partially erect Methos was rummaging through his coat pockets at a time like this. Not that the view wasn't spectacular but....

"Right, well in that case, are you particularly attached to that phone,?" Methos straightened slightly, his expression indicating he had found whatever he was looking for. Duncan frowned, utterly confused, his attention split between his would-be lover and Amanda's continued pleas for him to pick up the phone.

"No, of course not, Methos, what on...?"

"Good," Methos interrupted, pointing his gun at the offending communication device and firing twice. Amanda's voice abruptly cut off. 

Duncan stared at the mangled smoking heap of plastic and electrical wiring that had once been his phone. "You killed my phone." 

Methos smiled brightly. "Yes, Highlander, the phone is no more, it has ceased to be! It's expired and gone to meet its maker! It's a stiff! Bereft of life, it rests in peace! It's kicked the bucket, it's shuffled off this mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bloody choir invisible! It is an ex-phone!"

The next thing Duncan's frazzled synapses registered clearly, after wondering what he had done to deserve a dead phone and an impromptu Monty Python skit was that he had a lap full of warm, naked and very, very aroused Immortal.

"MacLeod," Methos purred, forcing Duncan to meet his eyes. "I know this place in Bora Bora that has no phone. Do we leave now or do I have to 'kill' you as well?"

When had he lost control of this situation? It wasn't when Methos had shot the phone, he knew. It wasn't even when Methos had walked through the door, a man with a plan.

It probably wasn't even four nights ago when his 'friends' had set him up for the most humiliation he'd endured in public in at least five decades.

As Methos began to nibble delicately on his ear lobe, and began to whisper in an almost ridiculously filthy voice how much he would like Duncan to take him over to the bed and nail him to it, Duncan knew that he'd really lost all hope of dominating things years ago. Probably the second he'd laid eyes on the man.

He sighed. Why fight it when they both wanted the same thing. He bunched his muscles, made a mighty heave and got them both up off the chair, succeeding in taking Methos by surprise. "Mac!"

"Oh shut up," he growled, staggering the few steps to his bed with an aroused, startled but for the moment gratifyingly compliant Immortal grasped to him.

He threw Methos on the bed and stood glaring at him. "You're paying for that phone."

"Whatever," Methos said insolently, his hand heading for his cock. "Send me the bill."

Duncan knelt on the bed and grabbed Methos' hand. "I never said you could touch yourself. And I don't want your money."

Methos brought himself to his knees and put his free arm around Duncan's neck. "Oh?" he said, one fine eyebrow arching gracefully. "And, pray, if I was _yours_ , how could I ever repay you for the loss of such a magnificent piece of ... equipment?"

Duncan dropped Methos' hand, and it was immediately wrapped like its mate, behind Duncan's head. Duncan leaned forward, bearing them both to the bed. "Let's start...by thinking about mink...." 


End file.
